


Dress Code

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: (but not actually underage), Age Difference, Community: inceptiversary, Inception kink bingo, M/M, School Uniforms, Uniform Kink, inceptiversary, parents as third wheels, somehow neither porn nor plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7646293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has a <em> thing </em> for Eames in his old school uniform. Eames, home for the summer from college, catches on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress Code

Arthur walks carefully back into the sitting room of his apartment, balancing three mugs of tea between two hands. Eames and his mother take theirs away from him and settle back onto the light green couch.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Mrs. Eames says. “I’ve just been parading my sweet pea around to see everyone now that he’s back in town.” She puts her arm fondly around her son’s shoulders and squeezes. He smiles politely up at Arthur. “I’ve mostly been dragging him around by his collar, but he wasn’t against dropping by here!”

“Well, I knew Arthur would be able to make me a proper cuppa,” he says, taking a sip from his mug. Even a year later, Arthur can remember the exact shade of tea that Eames preferred (taken with a little more milk than Arthur would add for himself, no sugar), learned on those occasional afternoons when Eames forgot his key and had to wait at his neighbor’s place until his mother or father came home from work.

Arthur knows Eames hates his given name, so he enunciates it carefully. “So, Gregory, how did you find your first year at university?”

Eames moves to sit on the edge of his seat as he answers Arthur. “It’s been great, yeah,” he starts. “Some interesting classes, some boring ones, but overall it’s really been an enlightening experience for me.”

“Yeah, university is great for that,” Arthur says. “I really didn’t figure out who I was until a couple years of college. It’s a nice, progressive environment for being exactly who you want to you be.”

“I’ve learned a lot about myself, too,” he adds, making eye contact with Arthur. He looks at him with intent, Arthur’s wishful thinking decides. It swears it sees a hint of suggestion in Eames’s glance.

While Eames is saying something to his mother, he silently wills his libido to quiet down so he can focus on being a normal participant in this conversation. When he tunes back in, Mrs. Eames is talking again, this time about his final grades, and looking lovingly at her son.

All eyes on Eames, then. Arthur can’t seem to stop staring. Eames’s face is largely the same, but the way he’s holding his expression is a little different from the schoolboy Arthur knew. He’s biting his lips a little now, drawing attention to them (as if they need help with that in the first place; they’re always distractingly full), and he also looks up at Arthur through his lashes when he dips his head down in laughter or contemplation. Arthur isn’t used to Eames looking back at him. If he’s not careful, Eames is going to notice that Arthur has always been physically incapable of tearing his eyes away.

“Isn’t it amazing how quickly they grow up, children? Don’t you remember that, when we moved in, Eames was just starting high school? He was so young!” she muses.

Arthur smiles. “Yeah, I remember. I’d always see him in the coming home in the afternoon, wearing his school uniform.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten about that old thing!” Mrs. Eames laughs.

“I actually still wear it under my normal clothes to class every day,” Eames says in a voice of perfect sincerity. “It helps me maintain order in my life and focus on my studies.” Mrs. Eames playfully pushes him in the shoulder, at which point he breaks into a small smile.

“That thing surely doesn’t fit you anymore,” she teases.

“Shame, what am I going to do without that horrid maroon jumper?”

“I always thought it went rather well with the red stitching on the tie,” Arthur says without thinking.

_Fuck. Too small a detail. So much for this social interaction._

In that moment, Arthur thanks his lucky stars that his spiffy dress sense reinforces gay stereotypes, because Mrs. Eames just laughs, saying, “I wouldn’t question Arthur on his fashion knowledge, dear.”

But Eames doesn’t seem to be taking the comment that way. He’s looking Arthur intensely in the eye now, his lips curled into a sinful smile, and Arthur knows that Eames knows that Arthur has always been looking.

++

That evening, hours and hours after Eames and his mother had thanked Arthur for the tea and the company and left, Arthur hears a knock at his door.

Arthur walks over to open it, deciding that whoever has decided to pay him a visit at this time of night will just have to deal with Arthur in his pajamas – an old grey shirt with “Northwestern” written across it in large purple block-letters and a worn pair of lounge pants, dark grey with white pinstripes. His hair is recently washed and towel-dried, but not at all kempt.

On the other side of the door is Eames.

Arthur’s jaw drops. Eames looks gorgeous. The black blazer complements the pristine white shirt (whose collar is crisp; Eames clearly ironed it for the occasion) and the dark grey tie. The maroon sweater stretches deliciously over Eames’s chest (he has put on a slight but noticeable amount of muscle since his school days), and Arthur is right, it does look nice with the tie. Arthur is willing himself not to look down below Eames’s waist, but it’s a lost cause. The legs of his slacks now strain just a little over Eames’s thighs. He looks back up at Eames’s face, which is painted with a beautiful smirk and an excited twinkle in his eyes.

“I’ve learned a lot about myself this past year, Arthur,” Eames says, his voice lower and quieter than it was earlier in the day. “I’ve learned all about what I like and what I want. But I’ve also learned how to read other people. So when I look at you, I can see what I want, but I can also tell what you’re longing for.”

Arthur swallows. He quickly ushers Eames into his apartment and closes the door, then he looks at Eames expectantly.

“You want me, Arthur. Just like this. Young. Innocent. Pure. Dressed in these clothes that are far too old for my age, because I think you love the contrast they create with the youth you see on my face. You want me _exactly like this_.” Eames steps forward, inches away from Arthur.

Arthur’s breath must hitch, because Eames smiles cockily.

“Am I wrong?” he says, his voice more sure, now.

“Almost perfect,” Arthur responds. He looks Eames up and down, taking in his entire ensemble, and then finally focuses on his slightly parted lips and the wanton look in his eyes.

“Almost?” Eames quirks one eyebrow upwards.

“Just one thing, Eames. I want you out of this uniform more than I want you in it.”

“Ah.”

Eames smiles as Arthur grabs him by the tie and pulls him in for a kiss.

It’s shaping up to be a pretty good summer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading - that's another bingo to round out Inceptiversary!


End file.
